Boot Camp
by Kittystitch
Summary: General Finch returns with an assignment for the team - one that Chief and Casino have issues with.
1. Chapter 1

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a sequel to both "The Innocence Mission" and "The Enemy". It might help to read those first, but this should also stand on its own._

 **BOOT CAMP**

The map room was stifling. It had remained closed up since its last use several days ago, and the odor of dusty old fabric and stale cigarette smoke choked what little air there was. Garrison propped open the double doors, then pulled back the heavy curtains. He pushed the sashes wide on both windows, letting the fresh air from outside flow through.

In the distance, across the expanse of green lawn, he could see his team in the middle of some kind of physical activity. He squinted into the sunlight and watched for a moment. They were playing soccer. He thought they were suppose be in drills with a new rifle model. He shook his head and sighed. There was no time to deal with it now. General Finch would be arriving any minute. He gave a brief thought to closing the curtains, to keep Finch from catching sight of his delinquent men, but decided it was useless. The General had already formed an opinion about them. Letting him see them having a little fun wasn't going to make much difference, one way or the other.

As he straightened up the table, emptying ashtrays and moving the slide projector to the sideboard, he tried again to think of what Finch might want with him. They had recently rescued the General's daughter from the Nazis, and while he had seemed grateful for their assistance, he had not been so happy with Garrison's decision to introduce her to the ex-patriot resistance community in Zurich. The last conversation he'd had with the General had not been a pleasant one, so he didn't hold out much hope for this one. He stood by his decision, though. Lisa Finch was a grown woman, capable of running her own life. She would have found a way to fight the war even without his help. Putting her in touch with experienced fighters seemed to Garrison to be the best way to help her stay alive.

He'd just slipped the dust cover back over the projector when General Finch knocked on the open door. Garrison turned and came to attention with a salute. He received a curt return salute. "As you were, Lieutenant."

Finch was not a large man, either in height or girth, but his stiff military bearing and impeccable uniform radiated authority. He carried his cap under his arm, and his graying hair was cropped close. The dark eyes and perpetual thin-lipped frown pegged him as a commander who demanded perfection and was difficult to please.

"Have a seat, sir," Garrison offered. "The clerk is bringing up some coffee."

Finch took the chair at the head of the table and pulled several file folders from his briefcase. "Let's get right down to business."

Garrison took the chair next to Finch and waited while the General flipped through the folders, rearranging them. Private Connors brought in a tray with coffee pot, cups and saucers, and Garrison silently directed him to place them on the sideboard. He could have used some coffee, or a cigarette, something to occupy his hands while the General got organized. But he dismissed Connors and waited for Finch to make the first move.

Finally, apparently satisfied with the order of his materials, Finch looked Garrison in the eye. "How is your team, Lieutenant?"

"Fine, sir." That was not the question he'd expected.

"And your man's wounds have healed?"

"Yes, sir. Chief's back up to speed." He pictured the game he'd just witnessed out on the lawn. Chief had kicked the ball clear across the field and had immediately been tackled and thrown to the ground by Casino. Of course his men didn't play by traditional soccer rules.

Finch cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, some of the starch draining out of his posture. "I don't think I ever properly thanked you and your men for bringing Lisa out of Castel Volturno. I want you to know how grateful I am. You all risked your lives for her. That young man could have been killed."

"Chief. His name is Chief, sir."

"Of course."

"We were just doing our job. How is your daughter?"

Finch straightened again, back in full General mode. "I haven't heard from her. And I'm still not happy that you encouraged her foolish idea of joining the resistance."

"I didn't encourage her, sir. I just gave her some information..."

"I know, Lieutenant. There was really no stopping her." Finch sighed and rose to pour himself a cup of coffee. "But that's not why I'm here. I have a project for you and your team."

That was the last thing Garrison expected from the General, who had called his men common street thugs and insubordinate amateurs.

"Don't look so surprised, Garrison. I still don't trust them, but I can see the value in their unique skills, when properly supervised. I believe those skills can be put to good use. I've cleared this with your direct command in OSS, and the plan is already in motion." Finch spread his collection of folders out on the table and began his briefing.

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Apparently, the soccer game was over. As Garrison walked across the broad sweep of manicured lawn, he could see Actor seated comfortably at one of the two garden tables in the shade, puffing on his pipe, a newspaper open in front of him. The ornate cast-iron garden set was a remnant of the mansion's absent owners, its white paint now flaking and the flowery relief pattern highlighted with moss and algae. A few cigarette butts littered the ground, left by the staff who occasionally ate lunch here. On a warm, sunny day like this, it provided a much needed respite from the world at war.

At the other table, Goniff and Casino were in the middle of the inevitable card game, the stack of coins in front of Casino indicating who was winning. He didn't see Chief at first. Looking around, he spotted his scout sitting a distance away, against a tree, whittling on a stick.

"Who won?" Garrison dropped his file folders on the table in front of Actor. When they all stared at him innocently, he added, "The soccer game."

"Casino cheated..." Goniff began.

"No score." Actor folded the paper and smiled up at him. "Just a little exercise after the weapons drill."

Garrison pulled up one of the heavy chairs and sat next to Actor. "You'll do the drill again tomorrow."

"Ah, Warden," Casino protested, dragging his chair over to join them. "Rawlins made us clean, load, and fire those guns a million times. How many more times we gotta do it? We're gonna wear 'em out."

"When you have to reload in the field, seconds can save your life. Or the life of a teammate." He let that sink into the silence for a moment, as he gathered his thoughts. He wasn't at all sure how they were going to take this new assignment.

Chief rose from his spot under the tree and came to the table, swinging one of the iron chairs around and straddling it. "What's in the folders?"

"We have a new project," Garrison began. It really couldn't be called a mission. "I just got out of a meeting with General Finch."

"Not 'im again." Goniff pulled his chair over to squeeze in next to Casino. "I thought 'e 'ated our guts. Wot's 'e want us to do now? Invade Berlin?"

"First of all, he wanted to express his thanks for saving Lisa."

Actor rapped his pipe against the edge of the table. "He couldn't bring himself to do that in person, could he?"

"He's still upset that Lisa went to Zurich. But you did good work, and you came out alive. That's all I care about."

"What? So now he wants us to go there and babysit her?" Casino asked.

Garrison pulled a cigarette out of the pack and tamped it against the top folder. Now he had their attention. "He wants us to train resistance fighters."

Actor was the first to fully process this. "Train them to do what?"

"What you do best. Lie, cheat and steal."

They all started to protest at once, and he held up his hands in defense. "The General's words, not mine."

Goniff was indignant. "Yeah, we don't cheat. Well, at least I don't."

"Hear me out. I think this has some merit."

He spent the next fifteen minutes carefully laying out Finch's plan. With the help of Maquis leadership, Allied Intelligence had chosen four promising young Resistance fighters to fly to England for special training. They would receive standard instruction in military weapons and combat, but the young men would also spend two weeks with them, learning the unconventional skills. They would divide into two teams. Two would work with Actor and Goniff at the mansion for a week, while the other two worked with Casino and Chief at a training facility north of London. Then they'd switch teams for the second week.

After he'd covered all the details, Garrison studied their faces, trying to get a read on what they were thinking. "Any questions?"

"No Krauts shootin' at us?" Casino sounded skeptical.

"Two weeks right here in merry old England, teaching eager young minds everything you know."

Goniff leaned back in his chair and scratched his head. "I dunno. I ain't no teacher, Warden."

"Ya can't teach what I know in two weeks," Casino protested. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Nonsense. You're naturals. I've watched all of you teach each other. And these boys don't have to leave here as experts. You just need to get them started with the basics."

"We don't have a choice, do we?" Chief was always quick to get to the heart of the matter.

Garrison crushed out his cigarette. "You're right. You don't."

"Come on, this will be fun." Actor was the only one enthused. "Just think of your first mentor, the one who taught you everything you needed to know."

"He's dead," Chief stated flatly.

Garrison needed to move the conversation along. "I'll put together some basic plans, and we'll go over them tomorrow morning. Your students will be here on Monday."

He handed each of them one of the folders. He'd saved the real surprise for last. "These are the four who were chosen."

Casino flipped his folder open and stared at the picture clipped inside, then handed it to Chief. They both glared up at him, but Casino spoke. "Denis? You gotta be kiddin', Warden. He's what? Maybe 14?"

"I know. He told them he was 18, and they chose to believe him. It's too late now. He's on his way."

"No way, Warden." Chief tossed the folder onto the table. "He's a kid. I ain't teachin' a kid how to get hisself killed."

"Maybe you two should have thought of that before you turned him loose in occupied France."

"That was different..."

"Was it? You helped him make that decision, now you have a chance to help him stay alive. It seems to me you owe it to him."

"Still don't like it." Chief stood and swung his chair around. "We done here?"

Garrison stood too, signaling the end of the meeting. "The map room, 11:00 tomorrow. After your weapons drill."

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Chief almost hadn't recognized Denis when he got off the plane in London. When they'd left him with the Maquis cell in Calais, he was a scrawny, dirty kid trying to deal with the death of his abusive father. Now he'd grown at least a inch, filled out, and put on weight. His hair was neatly cut, and someone had given him new clothes for his trip to England. He could easily pass for 18.

His companion, Stefan, was older, at least 20, tall and wiry, with black hair and dark, penetrating eyes. He was a young man passionate about his cause. On the drive north to the training camp, he'd told them that his Romani parents were being held in a German concentration camp, and his dream was to liberate them. He wanted to learn as much as he could to help him do that, and he was eager for the weapons and combat training. But he wasn't quite sure how breaking into safes and stealing cars was going to help him.

They arrived at the RAF training base well after dark, and a sergeant escorted them to the large tent that would be their home for the next two weeks. Getting used to planes taking off and landing at all hours would be tough, but at least the accommodations were roomy and comfortable. Along with the five cots, they also had foot lockers, and a table and chairs in the center to use as a work space. All the comforts of home.

Chief tossed his duffle onto the cot farthest from the entrance, and Denis quickly chose the one next to it, plopping down and giving it a bounce. Casino and Stefan picked the cots on the opposite side, and Garrison threw his gear onto the one nearest the entrance.

"Nice digs." Casino dropped his duffle on top of his foot locker. "I'm starvin'. Which way's the mess?"

Garrison glanced at his watch. "We should head over before they close."

"I'll catch up." Chief unzipped his duffle and started unpacking the few things he'd brought with him. What he really wanted was some space.

"Don't wait too long," Garrison warned him as he left the tent with Casino and Stefan.

Denis didn't follow the others, but sat cross-legged on his bunk and watched Chief empty his bag.

Chief didn't like the feeling of being stared at. "You're gonna miss chow."

"Not hungry."

"Suit yourself."

Denis started to say something else, but the roar of a bomber coming in for a landing drowned him out. When the plane had passed, he came over and sat on Chief's bunk. "They told me you were hurt trying to leave Calais," he said quietly.

"Yep." Chief folded a shirt and put it in his footlocker, suddenly aware of the tightness under his right shoulder blade that sometimes ached when he hadn't stretched.

"I'm glad you're okay." Denis pulled the switchblade from his pants pocket and snapped it open. "I've been practicing."

Chief eyed the blade Denis was trying to flip between his fingers. It was the one he'd given the kid at the end of that mission, an old one he was about to get rid of. It hadn't been in very good shape then, and it was even worse now. It was slightly bent, and the hinge was loose. Maybe it was time for the first lesson.

Chief dug to the bottom of his duffle and pulled out his whetstone and honing oil. "That thing could use some work."

He sat next to Denis on the cot and snapped out his own blade. Resting the stone on his thigh, he dropped a spot of oil onto it, and slowly dragged the flat of the blade through it, a few times on each side. Then he handed the stone to the Denis.

Settling it on his leg, Denis slowly pulled his blade through the residue of oil a couple of times. The grating sound was almost painful. Chief grabbed his wrist and stopped him. "You wanna give it an edge, not grind it off."

Denis tried again, more slowly, with less of an angle.

But the knife was in rough shape. Besides the loose hinge, the spring mechanism was shot, and there were visible nicks along the blade. It looked like the kid had been carving stone with it. Chief jerked it from Denis' hand, stabbed it into the wooden floor, and snapped the blade off.

"Hey! What'd you do that for? You gave me that knife."

Chief reached into his duffle, pulled out a new switchblade, and handed it to Denis. "Don't get attached to your weapon, kid. It's just a tool."

A smile broadened Denis' face as he inspected the new gift, with its shiny handle and smooth, crisp snap. He held it up and attempted to twirl it confidently between his fingers. It slipped, he lost control and yelped, and the knife clattered to the floor. He quickly brought his hand to his mouth and sucked on the cut the razor edge had sliced.

Chief sighed. It was going to be a long two weeks. He picked the knife up off the floor and dropped it back into his duffle, then shoved Denis off his cot. "Go get some grub. You can play with it tomorrow."

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The odd little town that was their 'school' reminded Chief of some kind of weird ghost town out of a bad dream. It looked like part wartime military base and part old English village. The British Army had taken over the crumbling hamlet, thrown up some additional quonset huts and rough pine buildings painted olive drab, and used it as an urban combat training facility. Old cars and trucks were parked randomly along the two intersecting dirt streets, and one of the sheds had been outfitted with a variety of old safes for Casino's students to practice on. After inspecting them, Casino had declared that they all could be opened with a sneeze and a bobby pin, but that they'd do for a start.

Denis' persistent practice with his old knife had paid off. It took him only a couple of tries to get used to the feel and heft of the new blade, and his throws were deadly accurate. However, his knowledge of engines was limited, so Chief began with the basics and helped him hotwire a couple of the older cars. Casino began Stefan's education with the safes.

At midday, Garrison brought them lunch, and they sat on the ground in the shade of one of the half-collapsed stone cottages eating sandwiches made with some unidentifiable meat. At least the water in the canteens was cold and fresh.

Casino finished chewing the last of his second sandwich. "Listen, Warden, this is gettin' us nowhere. These guys could crack safes and hotwire cars from now till doomsday, but none of that's gonna do 'em any good when it comes down to the real deal."

"What do you propose, Casino?" Garrison leaned back against the stone wall and lit a cigarette.

"There has to be some risk, ya know? Some threat. We don't do this stuff in a nice, safe little make-believe town. We got Krauts breathin' down our necks and bombs droppin' on us." Casino reached over and took the pack of cigarettes from Garrison's pocket, and helped himself to one.

"Go on." Garrison's half smile was one Chief recognized. Casino had his interest. Denis and Stefan were listening carefully.

"So we give 'em a mission, see how they handle it."

Garrison raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well, not a real mission," Casino clarified. "But still something with a time limit and a payoff."

"Okay, Casino. You and Chief set it up. When do you want to do it?"

"Tonight?" Casino looked questioningly at Chief.

Chief smiled. He liked the idea. Skills were one thing. Adrenaline was a whole different game. "The darker the better," he agreed.

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Garrison took Denis and Stefan back to the base for weapons training while Chief and Casino set up their 'mission'. When Garrison brought the boys back after dark, they got their briefing. They were to work alone together to break into one of the more secure buildings, take some documents from the safe, choose a car, steal it, and make their getaway.

They'd been at it for an hour.

The night was moonless, humid and overcast. Chief knew his eyes had adjusted to the pitch blackness as much as they were going to. He looked both ways along the dark street, but there was still no sign of Denis and Stefan. He stepped back into the shadows between the buildings and leaned against the wall next to Casino.

Casino glanced at his watch. "They're sure takin' their sweet time. I coulda cleaned out a dozen safes, stolen three cars, and knocked over a pawn shop by now. Think they split?"

"Nah. Where would they go?"

"Good point." Then Casino chuckled. "Think the Gerries got 'em?"

"Then we got bigger problems."

Chief heard the heavy footfalls of the two boys running up the street. He alerted Casino with a touch, and they edged farther back into the shadows.

Both young men skidded to a halt in front of a rusty jeep, and Denis threw the hood up, spouting something in French. Stefan replied angrily and joined him under the hood. They banged around the engine for a moment, evidently unable to find the right connections in the total darkness. The escalating argument could probably be heard in Paris.

Casino stepped out of the shadows, pulled his sidearm, and fired two quick shots into the air. Both boys jumped, and Denis hit his head on the raised hood.

"Merde! What was that for?" Denis rubbed his head.

"The whole British Army could hear you comin'." Casino holstered his pistol and joined them out in the street. "Did ya at least get the papers?"

Denis reached into his shirt, then paused. He quickly searched all his pockets, but still came up empty, and he turned to Stefan.

"Don't look at me. You were so anxious to try to open the safe."

"I must've dropped them."

Casino threw his hands up in frustration. "That's just great. Two dead agents and no invasion plans. We're definitely gonna lose the war." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "How 'bout we debrief at the pub. I could use a beer"

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The Pig and Whistle was a lot like The Doves, and probably every other pub in England, Chief figured. Cigarette smoke mingled with the odor of stale beer and unwashed bodies. On a weeknight it wasn't crowded, but most of the customers were in uniform. They found an empty table in a far corner, and Chief sat with his back to the wall.

Casino returned from the bar with a plate of bread and cheese, and set another pint in front of Chief.

"Where's mine?" Denis demanded.

"You need to go easy on that stuff, babe. You already had two."

"I can hold my liquor. All I drink at home is wine."

Casino dropped into his chair and propped a leg on the table. "Yeah, well limey beer ain't Bordeaux. And reveille's still at 5 a.m."

Denis grabbed Stefan's half-empty glass and took a swig.

Stefan snatched it back. "He's right, Denis. You're going to regret this in the morning."

"There. Listen to the voice of experience," Casino agreed.

Stefan just smiled, probably remembering his first hangover.

Chief took a bite from one of the thick slices of stale bread and had to wash it down with a swallow of beer. He'd been in a lot worse places and drunk a lot worse things than warm, watered-down beer. There were a lot worse places he could be right now. In a cell at Statenville Prison or in a firefight with Krauts were just a couple that came to mind. He added a slice of the pungent cheese to the bread, and it tasted better.

Denis nudged Stefan and mumbled something in French.

"Hey. English, okay?" Casino reminded them. "Those are the rules."

"The two girls over there look lonely." Denis pointed toward a table near the door where two nicely dressed young women were getting settled and looking around.

Casino gave them an appraising look. "A little outta your league, don't ya think?"

"No, not at all. Come on, Stefan. They'll love our accents."

Stefan rolled his eyes and smiled, then followed Denis as he wound his way to the girls' table.

Casino slapped Chief on the arm and reached for a slice of bread. "Look at how he moves, how he constantly plays with that shiv. He wants to be you so bad he can taste it."

"You're crazy."

"Don't tell me you don't see it. Every kid needs a hero. You didn't have one when you were his age?"

The face that came unbidden to his mind was one Chief hadn't thought of in a while. Not until that night in the leaky farmhouse near Calais, and then again on the lawn at the mansion the other afternoon. And it was no more a welcome memory now than it was then. His name had been Howard, but they'd called him Snake, because he was quick and mean. Snake had been 17, one of the older inmates at the reform school, and almost out of the system, full of hot air about all the things he'd do when Social Services was no longer breathing down his neck. To Chief, those stories had been like a dream, the freedom he hungered for so badly it hurt. He'd learned how to make a shiv by watching Snake. The same shiv that ended Snake's life.

Chief swallowed half the glass of beer, clearing the lump of dry bread from his throat. "What he needs is to grow up."

From across the room, Chief couldn't hear what the boys were saying, but both the girls were smiling as Stefan brought a round of drinks to the table. He briefly wondered how far they should let this go, but he figured the girls would end it as soon as they'd finished their free beer.

Chief was only dimly aware of the RAF sergeant that came through the front door, until he approached the table where Denis, Stefan and the girls were huddling and laughing. Then the conversation got loud.

"Playtime's over, sonny. It's past your bedtime." The beefy sergeant took Denis roughly by the arm and pulled him out of his chair.

Denis yanked his arm free, only to have Stefan try to pull him away, speaking to him calmly in French.

Denis jerked from Stefan's grasp, and the knife flashed out.

Chief bolted from his chair and shoved his way across the room. He grabbed Denis' wrist, twisting it behind the kid's back, and propelled him toward the rear door. Casino had rushed after him and was speaking to the soldier, trying to smooth things over.

Chief pushed through the heavy door, into the alley, spun Denis around, and slammed him against the stone wall. "What the hell were you thinkin'?"

"I coulda taken him..."

"He's not your enemy."

"But he..."

"Shut up. Gimme that." He twisted the knife from the kid's hand and slammed him hard against the wall again, his breath coming in seething gasps. "You pull your knife, you better be goddam sure you wanna kill somebody."

"Chief?"

He hadn't heard Casino and Stefan come out the back door. He grabbed the front of Denis' shirt, pulled him away from the wall, and threw him at Casino. Denis staggered, and Casino caught him before he fell.

"Get him outta here." And he stalked away down the alley.

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The walk back to the airbase took a while, but it wasn't long enough. By the time Chief reached the front gate, he was sober and sweating, but he was still angry. He'd created an arrogant, out-of-control punk, a kid with a deadly weapon and a taste for using it. Denis had not given a thought to what that would have cost him, what it would have cost all of them. Maybe he should've let the sergeant beat the crap out of the kid. That's probably what would have happened. Except that Denis had become very good with that blade.

The tent was dark. He slipped quietly inside and to his cot, not wanting to wake anyone, but Garrison slept lightly. "Chief? You okay?"

"Yeah." Chief pulled off his boots and stretched out on top of the blanket. Denis' cot was rumpled but empty. "Where's the kid?"

Casino's bunk squeaked as he sat up. "In the head, losin' the rest of his beer. Stefan went to make sure he's okay."

"Serves him right."

Garrison came and sat on Denis' bunk. "What did you guys think was going to happen? He's 14."

"Ease up, Warden." A match flare briefly illuminated the tent as Casino lit a cigarette. "It was my idea, and you already read me the riot act."

"We don't have time to nursemaid his hangover."

"We all lived through our first one, right? He'll be fine."

The tent flap swung open, sending a dim beam across the floor from the security lights outside. Denis staggered in, followed closely by Stefan, who wasn't quite supporting him with the hand on his shoulder, but was ready to catch him if he collapsed.

Garrison rose from Denis' cot and helped Stefan ease him to the mattress. "How are you feeling?"

Denis groaned and curled into a ball.

"Mess call's at 06:00," Garrison reminded them, as he returned to his own bunk.

Lying in the darkness, with his eyes closed, Chief could hear the creak of metal as Casino and Stefan settled back onto their cots. He was too tired to undress, the ache in his right shoulder just enough ward off sleep. Garrison hadn't mentioned the incident in the alley. He realized that Casino had covered for him, something he hadn't expected. But that didn't solve the problem. Just taking the knife away from Denis wasn't going to make him any less stupid.

The cot next to his squeaked as Denis turned over. His voice was a whisper. "Chief?"

"What."

"I'm sorry."

"Shut up and go to sleep."


	2. Chapter 2

Chief was bored. But he'd learned to appreciate boredom, and use it to his advantage. In all the time he'd spent in solitary, he'd been thankful for the quiet and seclusion, making peace with the pain and depravation. In all the times they spent waiting in safe houses while Garrison scoped out a mission, he'd learned to use the calm to sharpen his senses and center himself for the chaos to come. Now he sat quietly in the jeep's driver's seat, the afternoon sun hot on the back of his neck, and whittled on a chunk of scrap four-by-four. It was turning into a dog. Or a horse. Something with four legs. His grandfather once told him he'd have to go on a vision quest to find his spirit animal. That had never happened. His spirit animal was his blade. The thought made him smile.

Casino trotted up the street and climbed into the jeep's passenger seat, brushing away the wood shavings. "Okay, I got the next mission set up. They're gonna have to blow the safe to get this one done in time."

"They'll be lucky they don't blow their own heads off." Chief set the dog-horse on the dash, and folded and stowed his knife.

"They ain't doin' too bad." Casino glanced at his watch. "They still got 10 minutes to get back here with the goods."

"If they can find a car that starts." Chief picked up the wad of ignition cables he'd pulled out of some of the vehicles parked around the village.

Casino smiled and shook his head. "You slimy Indian. That ain't fair."

"Life ain't fair."

"Yeah, they might as well learn here instead of a Kraut prison." Casino lit a cigarette and shook out the match. "Think Denis learned a lesson from his bender last night?"

Chief recalled how pale Denis had looked at breakfast that morning. When Garrison had set a plate of powdered scrambled eggs in front of him, he'd gagged and rushed out of the mess hall. Their morning sessions had been on the rifle range and in hand-to-hand combat, both probably torture for the kid. But it was the only way he'd learn.

Chief picked up his carving and idly rubbed at a rough spot. "You didn't tell the Warden about last night."

Casino shrugged. "The Warden don't need to know everything."

"Thanks."

"Sure. No sweat." Casino leaned back in the seat, propping a foot on the dash, and took a long drag on his cigarette. "We need to up the game for these lads. I got another idea. Wanna hear it?"

Chief noted Casino's sly grin. "This somethin' else we ain't gonna tell the Warden?"

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The jewelry store was two blocks from the Pig and Whistle. While it wasn't large, it was doing a good trade with both British and American airmen from the local base. And evidently larceny wasn't yet an issue in this town. All of the bright, shiny baubles had been left in full view in the shop's front window for the night.

"We're actually going to steal real jewelry?" Denis asked for the third time, as they made their way around the corner and into the dark alley behind the shop.

"It ain't really stealin,," Casino explained again.

Stefan shook his head. "I don't understand the difference."

"It's just practice. We'll put the stuff back," Casino assured him.

"Will y'all shut up," Chief whispered. "Ya wanna wake the whole town?"

The boys set to work, just as Casino had instructed them. They checked for alarms around the shop's back door, and when they found none, Stefan worked on the lock, while Denis looked on. Chief and Casino stood back, giving the boys space, and watched both ends of the alley. Although Stefan fumbled to find the right pick, and dropped it twice, he eventually got the door open, and they followed the two boys inside.

While Casino accompanied Stefan to the safe in the back office, Chief led Denis into the small showroom. The kid immediately went to the largest display case and raised a fist over it, ready to smash in the glass top. Chief caught his arm. "Whadda ya think you're doin'?"

"Aren't we here to steal this stuff?"

"You'll slice your hand off. Just take what's out in the open." He let go of Denis' arm and shoved him toward a display of watches.

They filled their pockets with everything within reach, then met Casino and Stefan as they came out of the office. Chief exchanged a quick nod with Casino, and they headed for the back door. When Denis reached for the knob, Chief grabbed him by the shirt collar and jerked him back. "Slow down. What if somebody's out there."

The glare Denis gave him was unmistakable. The kid was on the edge.

Casino eased the door open and made sure the alley was still clear, and they slipped back out into the darkness.

Denis turned on Chief, no longer able to control his temper. "What is it with you? You've been on my back ever since I got off the plane."

"Not now, kid..." Casino took his arm and tried to pull him away.

"No. Now. I've had it." The knife leapt into Denis' hand from nowhere, and he swung. Caught off guard, Chief tried to pull back, but he hit the wall behind him. The blade ripped his shirt, raked across his stomach, and drew blood.

His anger erupted. He shoved away from the wall, grabbed Denis' hand, and twisted with all his strength until he pried the knife free. Spinning Denis around, he clamped an arm around the kid's neck, then punched the blunt end of the knife handle into his solar plexus, hard enough to bruise. "What'd I tell you? You think you can take me?"

Denis was gasping, the wind knocked out of him, unable to breathe with Chief's arm closing off his windpipe.

Again Chief rammed the knife handle into Denis' middle. "This is your kill spot," he hissed. And he pushed harder. "Then twist up and finish it."

Denis stopped struggling and slumped against him. Chief shoved him away, and the kid fell to his knees on the pavement, choking and coughing.

"Ya got that, punk?"

Denis gasped for air. "I didn't mean..."

"Next time ya better mean it." Chief tried to catch his breath, regain control, make his heart stop pounding.

Casino reached down to help Denis to his feet, keeping his eyes on Chief. He pulled the car key from his pocket and handed it to Stefan. "Take Denis back to the base. Tell Garrison we'll be late."

Stefan put an arm around Denis' shoulder and with one last wary glance back, guided him out of the alley. When the boys were out of sight, Casino unlocked the shop's back door again, and they left the cash and jewelry in a pile on the office desk. By the time they returned to the pub, Chief's heart was no longer hammering in his chest, but the cut across his stomach stung.

Casino returned from the bar, took a seat, and pushed a mug across the table toward him. "Ya wanna explain what that was all about?"

"He's lucky he ain't dead."

"Yeah, that was a stupid move..."

"He's gonna get hisself killed. And everybody else with him."

"You're supposed to be teachin' him how to keep from doin' that."

"I got nothin' to teach him."

"Looks like he's already learned the hot-head part."

"Back off, Casino."

Casino's voice inched up a notch. "You need to back off, Geronimo. He's right. You've been ridin' him since he got here. He thinks you're God, and you keep kickin' him in the pants."

"I said can it."

The sound of the pub's front door squeaking open caught their attention, and they both looked up as Garrison walked in. Casino turned his back and hunched his shoulders, as if he could hide. "Shit. We're busted."

Garrison was in uniform instead of the work fatigues he'd been wearing all week. He'd probably been in meetings with the brass. He stood West Point straight, and as he looked around, he removed his cap and placed it under his arm. His thin frown was not a good sign.

As their commander approached the table, Casino grinned and kicked out a chair. "Hey, Warden. Grab yourself a pint and join us."

Garrison took the offered seat. "Tell me you put it all back."

"Put what back?" Casino feigned innocence, but Garrison's glare was enough to tell him it was useless. Casino rolled his eyes. "Those two stoolies ratted on us, huh? Yeah, we put it back. But it was hard."

Some of the stiffness left Garrison's shoulders as he reached for Casino's glass and took a swallow. "You two are lucky I didn't call the constable and get you thrown in a cell for the night. Let's keep it legal from now on, alright?"

"How's the kid?" Casino asked.

"A little beat up." Garrison turned his gaze to Chief. "What about you?"

Although the stinging had eased, the cut still oozed some blood, and he wiped it away with his shirt. "I'll live."

"Come on, let's go. We'll talk about it in the morning."

Garrison took another swig of Casino's beer, then stood and settled his cap on his head. With that simple motion, Chief flashed on a vivid image, a scrap of a dream he'd awoken to that morning, but which had quickly scurried into a dark corner of his mind. The image of Snake's startled, frightened eyes as blood drooled from his mouth and gushed out around the knife in Chief's hand. Snake wearing an Army lieutenant's uniform. He let out a long breath, pushing the unsettling nightmare back into its dark corner, and followed his commander out of the pub.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

He must've been exhausted. They'd gotten in late, and Chief fell asleep quickly. Untroubled by anymore disturbing dreams, he'd slept soundly, until he'd heard Garrison get up before reveille, dressing for his morning run. Chief had pulled on his own clothes and joined him at the entrance to the tent. Their morning runs were routine back at the mansion, but this morning Garrison's brief smile as they silently left the tent together had been reassuring.

They ran in silence, accompanied only by the frequent roar of bombers taking off and landing, but Chief resigned himself to what he knew was coming. Garrison's 'what were you thinking' speech. He'd have to figure out exactly what he had been thinking.

They finished their five miles at the mess hall, sweating and out of breath, and got in line for breakfast. The cavernous room was crowded with long, rough wooden tables, and echoed with the boisterous voices of men just beginning their day, or just returning from a night of bombing raids. The food was mostly tasteless, and the coffee was scalding and bitter, but Chief was hungry enough not to care. He took his tray to the end of an empty table in a far corner, and Garrison followed him, stepping over the bench to sit opposite him. It was early, and Casino and the boys were not yet there. They ate silently for a few minutes, while Chief anticipated the coming lecture.

Garrison finished off a piece of toast, and finally said, "You want to tell me what happened last night?"

"You already know."

"I want to hear your version."

Chief swallowed a mouthful of dry, gritty eggs, fighting the urge to get up and leave the table rather than face Garrison's disapproval. "He's a stupid, reckless punk."

"He's young and inexperienced."

"Same thing, different words."

"We were all 14 once. You don't remember being eager and impulsive, needing to prove yourself?"

"Nope."

Garrison took a careful sip of the hot coffee and gave him a skeptical smile. "Well, you need to cut him a little slack. He's trying hard to impress you."

"What'd I say. Stupid."

"I disagree. He couldn't have a better role model. As long as you don't kill him first." Garrison glanced at his watch and stood. "I have an early meeting. Work with Stefan today, and stay out of Denis' way. And think about it. Right now he needs a leader, not a warden."

Chief watched Garrison carry his tray to the dishwasher's window and stop to talk with another officer. Even out of uniform, in an untucked and unbuttoned, sweat-stained fatigue shirt, the man personified strength and discipline. And it wasn't just something he'd learned at West Point. Behind the strength was a quick mind, and under the discipline was a daring risk taker, with an uncompromising loyalty to everything he believed in. That's the man the kid needed to look up to. Not another street punk with no other skills besides killing and surviving.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

"Here, move it down a little closer," Casino instructed Denis, sliding the bell of the listening device down the cold metal, closer to the safe's dial. "Hear the difference?"

Denis closed his eyes, and pushed the ear piece in more securely. "Yeah. Now I hear it."

"See, it's almost as soft as your own heartbeat. Sometimes you just gotta tune everything else out and concentrate."

The tip of the kid's tongue stuck out as he slowly turned the dial and focused on the quiet clicking of the tumblers. "I think I got it," he breathed, and pulled on the handle. The safe's heavy door glided open.

"Hey, good job." Casino smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're gettin' the hang of it. Time to move on to the more complicated stuff."

Denis got up off of the hard floor, where he'd been sitting in front of the small safe, and stretched out stiff back muscles. "Can we take a break? It's really hot in here."

Casino looked at his watch. The morning had passed quickly. "Yeah, let's go find the canteens and some fresh air."

In the shade of a large elm, in the middle of what was once the village's public square, they settled into the cool grass and quickly emptied the contents of two canteens. Casino took the opportunity to light a cigarette. He offered one to Denis, but the boy shook his head.

"You and Chief," he said, taking the first long drag. "How'd you not start smokin'?"

Denis pulled in a long breath and let it out in a sigh. "Why does he hate me?"

"You mean Chief? He don't hate you."

"Sure felt like it last night."

"If he hated you, you woulda gotten the business end of that knife, not the hilt."

Denis absently rubbed at the bruise below his ribs, probably imagining what the business end of the knife would have felt like.

Casino had seen Chief angry before, had been the target of it more than once. It didn't take much to hit a raw nerve with the Indian, and Denis seemed to be hitting all of them. "Look, neither of us thought you belonged here. You're just a kid. Maybe it's his way of tellin' you that you need to grow up a little first, before you're ready for the big time."

"I can handle myself."

"No, kid, you can't." Casino saw no reason to coddle the boy. That never helped. "But that's what you're here to learn, okay?"

"I'm tired of just carrying messages back and forth." Denis sounded angry and frustrated. "I want to fight the Boche, kick them out of my country."

"Don't knock bein' a courier, babe. It's dangerous work. They give it to kids like you because you're less likely to be suspected."

A smile crept onto Denis' lips. "I'm good at it, too. I understand German, so I hear all kinds of things, when they don't even know I'm listening."

"See, you're already helpin' the war effort. Now, let's get back to work." Casino crushed out the remainder of his cigarette and pushed to his feet. "Just stay out of Chief's reach, and don't pull a weapon on him again. That really pisses him off."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

It took Stefan a couple of minutes to find the latch that released the hood, and when he finally got it open, he stared hopelessly down at the engine. "This one's different," he said.

"That's because it's American," Chief explained, and he pointed out the two connections Stefan had to make to jump-start the car.

Stefan shook his head in frustration. "This is all very interesting, but I do not see how any of it is going to help us defeat the Nazis."

Chief slammed the hood shut. "Just a good thing to know when you need wheels in a hurry."

"I'm sorry," Stefan sighed. "I really do appreciate all you and the others are doing for us. I guess I'm just tired. Is it time for lunch yet?"

"Sure. Why not."

As they walked up the narrow street to the jeep they'd arrived in that morning, Stefan stretched and rubbed at stiff shoulders. "Do you work this hard every day at your home base?" he asked.

Chief laughed. Not if they could help it. But he said, "Helps to stay sharp."

"How often do you run missions on the continent?"

"Whenever the Warden says so." Chief pulled their canteens from the back of the jeep as Stefan reached for the mess kit.

They found a patch of shade with a breeze, in the lee of the crumbling church, and Chief leaned against the stone wall, raising one knee and stretching his other leg out in front of him. Stefan pulled an apple out of the mess kit and tossed it to him. "I stole these from breakfast this morning. There weren't many left."

"Catchin' on to the larceny part, huh?" The fruit was small and bruised, and a little dried up, but Chief slipped out his knife and cut into it. It wasn't juicy, but it still held some lingering sweetness.

Stefan settled into the grass next to him with his own apple, took two C-ration cans from the kit, and handed one to Chief, along with a fork. As Chief dug into the sloppy mess of franks and beans, he had to admit that it had more flavor than that morning's breakfast. And he was hungrier than he'd thought.

"This afternoon, could you show me how to use the knife?" Stefan asked.

"If you want."

"I think it would be a more useful skill than stealing cars." Stefan swirled his fork around in the can of beans, but decided against eating it, and set the can on the ground. He picked up the apple and bit into it. "I have more of these if you want another one."

"Maybe later." Chief watched the young man closely. He felt Stefan was building up to something.

When Stefan finished his apple, he lobbed the core as if it were a hand grenade, into the field across the road. Finally he said, "Denis talked about you all the way over here on the plane."

Chief finished off his beans and put the empty can back in the mess kit, waiting for Stefan to continue.

Stefan smiled at him. "I thought you were going to be ten feet tall. But now I know why he admires you so much. I think you have much in common."

"Yeah? Like what?" Chief wasn't buying any of it.

"Denis has been on his own for a long time, even when his father was still alive. If he didn't want to get beaten, he had to stay away from him. He's had to struggle to get by. I think maybe you had to do the same thing."

Chief narrowed his eyes at the boy. "What makes you think that?"

"I'm Romani, remember? Gypsy." Stefan smiled and bit into a second apple. "We know things."

Chief stood and wiped his hands down his pants legs. Now he knew why Stefan and Casino got along so well. They were both chatterboxes. "Well, he's on his way to gettin' killed if he don't wise up. Lunch is over. Do you wanna practice with the knife or not?"

gg gg gg gg gg gg

The afternoon had been long and leisurely as he'd shown Stefan the basics of handling a knife. Besides Chief's switchblade, he'd also practiced with a standard Army-issue combat knife. They'd found a half-empty can of white paint in one of the nearby sheds and used it to paint targets on a wooden fence. One was a bullseye with three rings, but Stefan had the most fun practicing on the crude outline he'd created of a man giving a Nazi salute, with a small swastika painted where the heart would be. The swastika had been obliterated by the time they were done.

Chief shaded his eyes against the sun as it sank behind the air base's control tower, and finished off the last of the water in his canteen. On the other side of their target fence, he could hear Casino and Denis at the jeep, stowing their gear. It was late. Garrison was probably wondering what trouble they'd gotten into this time.

Chief handed Stefan the paint can and brush. "School's out. Go put these back."

As Stefan trotted off toward the paint shed, Chief gathered up their weapons and mess kit and joined Casino and Denis at the jeep.

"I'm bushed," Casino declared. "I could use a shower and a thick steak."

Chief dropped their gear into the jeep and took a couple of the remaining apples from the mess kit. He tossed one to Casino, then lobbed one at Denis, who deftly snatched it from mid-air. "Kill anybody today, kid?"

Casino gave him a quick punch in the chest and pointed a finger, glaring a warning. "Careful, babe. We start with the explosives tomorrow. That wouldn't be pretty."

Chief grinned. He'd just wanted to get a rise out of the kid, see his reaction. Denis' face was unreadable. He must've gotten Garrison's self-control lecture.

Stefan ran up to the jeep, slightly out of breath. "Aren't we suppose to have this place to ourselves?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Casino answered. "Why?"

"There are some men moving boxes into the building at the far end of the street. And they don't really look like they belong here. They aren't in uniform."

"Probably just storin' stuff." Casino finished loading the jeep. "Not our problem."

"No, come look," Stefan insisted. "This doesn't feel right to me."

Chief exchanged a glance with Casino and shrugged, and they all followed Stefan back up to the paint shed. The boy glanced furtively around the corner of the building, toward the far end of the street, then beckoned them to come look.

Casino glanced around the corner, then stepped out onto the street, watching an unmarked truck retreat into the distance. "Looks like whoever it is, they're leavin'."

"It's not a military truck," Denis pointed out. "Doesn't that seem odd to you? Who else would be storing things here?"

"I dunno, kid. Could be anybody."

"Don't you want to see what's in there?"

"No, I wanna get cleaned up and get some dinner."

"Aw, come on. It would be good practice. I bet I could get that lock open in no time."

"It'd probably take you all night," Chief challenged.

"Five minutes, tops."

"You're on, kid."

"Okay, okay, let's go see what ya got." Casino took his set of picks from his hip pocket and handed it to Denis as they headed up the street.

It was one of the newer structures in the small training village, windowless, square, and painted a drab grey-green. The large double doors on the front were secured with two thick chains through the iron handles, held together with two different heavy-duty padlocks. Denis flipped open the set of picks, quickly chose one, and started to work on the top lock.

Standing back next to Chief, with his arms crossed, Casino just shook his head, but refrained from saying anything. Stefan was the one who spoke up. "I think you need a bigger one, Denis."

Denis took Stefan's advice and pulled out another, larger pick. Casino continued to observe quietly, glancing at his watch. The kid must've worked hard that morning, because he wasn't far off. He had both padlocks open in just over five minutes, and he and Stefan pulled the heavy door open with a rusty squeak.

The air that hit Chief in the face was hot and acrid, smelling like the aftermath of a firefight. Casino found a light switch and flicked it on, illuminating a large open space randomly stacked with various sized wooden boxes.

Chief wandered among the stacks, trying to make sense of the chemical names stenciled on the crates. An uneasy knot was growing in his stomach, and he called to Casino. "You know what this stuff is?"

Casino stepped up beside him, his expression saying he'd been inspecting the boxes, too. "White phosphorous. Thermite. TNT. Gun powder. Light a match in here, and the whole building turns into a bomb."

"This seem to you like a good place to store it?"

"Not if I had a whole well-guarded air base right next door." Casino shrugged. "Could be nothin', though. Maybe they ran out of storage space on the base."

Their eyes met. They both knew that was unlikely.

"Okay, we tell the Warden," Casino suggested. "Let the professionals handle it."

"No, wait." Denis ran up beside them, excitement glinting in his eyes. "We can stake it out, wait for them to come back, then ask them what they're doing here. You don't want Garrison to think you're afraid of them, do you?"

"I ain't afraid of nobody, kid," Casino retorted. "But I ain't in the habit of buyin' trouble. We report it to the brass."

Chief took Denis by the shoulder and pushed him toward the door. "Casino's right. You got plenty of time to play hero later."

As they headed back up the middle of the street, the boys hung back, speaking in animated French. Chief was about to remind them of the English-only rule, but he was hot and tired. He really didn't care what they were talking about.

The shot came out of nowhere. Instinctively, Chief dove behind the nearest car, almost landing on top of Casino, who had done the same.

"What the hell..." Casino pulled his side arm. "We're still in England, right?"

All Chief had was his knife. The shot had echoed off the buildings. He had no idea where it came from. They could still be targets.

Another shot sent up a spurt of dust in the street. This time Chief caught the muzzle flash a hundred yards away, from behind their jeep. Stefan had scurried to cover between two buildings on the opposite side of the street. Denis lay sprawled in the street, blood covering the front of his shirt.

Casino saw him, too. "Oh shit."

"Cover me."

"Make it quick. I only got one more clip."

As Casino started firing in the direction of the shooter, Chief dashed into the open, crouched low, trying to be a small, fast target. He grabbed Denis under the arms, pulling him back toward the alley where Stefan huddled, the deafening gunfire reverberating from all directions.

Red hot pain exploded in his left shoulder, the sudden impact throwing him to the ground. He sucked in a deep breath, teeth clenched, fighting the need to curl up around the pain. He struggled back to his feet, and tried to get a grip on Denis again, but his left arm refused to obey, the fire in his shoulder threatening his consciousness. Stefan darted from his hiding place, grabbed Denis by the shirt, and they both pulled him back to shelter. Chief collapsed against the wall, trying to stay upright, unable to catch his breath, feeling only the burn in his shoulder.

The firing abruptly stopped, the only sound now the pounding of his heart, and the ringing in his ears. Next to him, Stefan was doing what he could to stop Denis' bleeding, pressing both hands over the hole in his side. Across the street, still crouching behind the car, Casino held up his empty ammo clip. He was now essentially unarmed.

Chief tried to hold his breath, tried to listen, watching his blood drip from the tips of his fingers into the dirt. His vision tilted and blurred. Not now. Don't pass out yet. He wiped his shirt sleeve across his eyes and forced himself to focus.

It was a soft sound, boots scuffing dirt, coming up the street, getting louder, closer. The shooter knew where they were and that they were out of ammo. Which way would he turn first? Toward the one who had the gun and might reload? Or toward the three who were injured and defenseless? Chief knew who he'd choose to shoot first.

He snapped out his blade and raised it so Casino could see. Casino nodded and eased to his feet, still crouching out of sight behind the car. The shooter moved cautiously into view between them, and Casino picked that moment to stand and become a target.

As the shooter spun toward the movement, Chief's knife hit him in the back, piercing his heart.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Chief shifted in the hard chair, trying to ease the pressure on his shoulder, as he continued to whittle on his small wooden figurine. It now looked more like a wolf than a dog or horse. He carefully carved away a rough spot between its ears and rubbed his thumb over it, deciding it would eventually need a good sanding. The pain in his shoulder and the stiff bandages made gripping the small carving difficult, but it was bearable, better than the helpless, confined feeling the sling gave him. It now hung uselessly around his neck.

He hated hospitals. He'd spent too much time in them recently, and the caustic smell of antiseptic burned his throat. They'd removed the bullet from his shoulder, kept him on fluids and pain killers for two days, then discharged him. The bed was needed for more critically wounded soldiers. Garrison and Casino were on their way to pick him up for the drive back to London. Denis, sleeping quietly in the bed in front of him, would be staying in the hospital a couple more weeks.

Pale and small against the stark white sheets, Denis now looked more like the child he was. He was arrogant, impulsive and reckless, but Chief had to admit that the kid had instincts. And passion. Like the Warden said, what he needed was leadership. Chief didn't know why the kid had latched onto him. He had nowhere to lead him except into trouble. He decided it was only the knife Denis coveted, and the control and power it provided.

One more time he shifted, the throb of his wound easing only a little. In his pocket was the jar of pills the doctor had given him, but he disliked the murky fog they left him in. He leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, trying to master the discomfort. Snake had taught him how to imagine it as something he could control, like a fire he could douse. Snake, the vicious bully who'd beaten him senseless in the mess hall, then defended him against a gang of older boys. Who'd called him a worthless piece of redskin shit, then told him he didn't have to be what the system tried to make him. He could be anything he wanted to be. Snake, who had pushed him too far, once too often, in the exercise yard. It was then that he'd finally decided who he needed to be.

"Chief?"

He hadn't been aware that Denis was awake. "Yeah. You need the nurse?"

"No, I'm fine." A small smile lifted the corners of Denis' mouth. "But you could call her anyway. She's cute."

Chief sat up straight and returned to his carving, slicing another shaving from the side of the piece, making it look even more like a long, lean wolf.

"Thank you." Denis' voice was just above a whisper.

"For what?"

"I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothin'."

"But you could have been killed..."

The door pushed open and Casino strode in, his arm around the pretty little Scottish RAF nurse. Her name tag said she was Fiona. Garrison was close behind them.

"The next time you're in London, sweetheart, look me up, okay?" Casino took a playing card from his shirt pocket, borrowed her pen, and scribbled down his name and phone number. "There's this great little pub..."

Garrison snatched the card from Casino's hand before he could give it to her, and tore it into scraps. "That's classified, Casino."

Casino shrugged and put his arm back around her waist. "Just ask at the army hospital there. They all know me."

Garrison smiled at the nurse as she pulled from Casino's hold. "You'll have to excuse him, Sister. He doesn't get out much."

She returned the Warden's smile with the bright, warm one Chief had come to appreciate over the last couple of days. "It's alright, Lieutenant. I'm used to it. They're harmless."

"I wouldn't count on it," Garrison said, probably too quietly for Fiona to hear.

"And you, young man, need to be using that sling." Chief stood as she approached him. She took the knife and carving from him, set them on the bedside table, and gently lifted his arm, placing it carefully back in the sling.

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled at the whiff of her scent, a mixture of disinfectant and lavender.

"How are you feeling?" Garrison asked Denis.

"Much better now that Fiona is here," Denis answered with his best attempt at a leer.

Once again Garrison exchanged an apologetic smile with Fiona, who just shrugged and went about her duties.

Garrison turned back to Chief. "The MP's just finished rounding up the rest of the gang. Once they caught one, he quickly gave up his buddies. They'd been stealing munitions from the base for months, stockpiling them in that shed."

"The IRA, right?" Casino said.

"Right. We believe their plan was to blow up as much of the airbase as possible. You and Stefan were right to be suspicious, Denis."

"And the guy who shot at us?" Chief asked.

"It was that sergeant from the pub the other night," Casino told him. "He not only had a cause, he had a grudge."

"See, you should have let me take him," Denis said around the thermometer Fiona had placed in his mouth,

"Yeah, you and what army?" Casino quipped.

"Gentleman." Fiona took the thermometer and checked it, then marked the chart. "Denis needs his rest. I have to ask you to leave."

"Of course, Sister." Garrison said, and he turned to lay a hand on Denis' shoulder. "Take it easy, son. We'll see you back in London in a couple of weeks."

Casino gave Denis a gentle punch on the arm. "And keep your hands off the nurses, kiddo. They control your medications."

Fiona shooed Garrison and Casino out the door, and Chief started to follow.

"Don't forget your knife and carving," Denis called after him.

"You keep 'em."

Denis reached over and picked up the rough figurine, turning it in his hands

. "What is it?"

"Anything you want it to be, kid."


End file.
